I'll Go First
by Elessar-4-TnT
Summary: The night after Season 3's Harbinger, Trip and T'Pol meet in the mess hall for breakfast. But things go slightly differently this time when Trip decides he needs to get something off his chest.


**I'll Go First**

**Author: John O.**

**Rating: G**

**Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek characters/names/fans' souls/etc. I call shenanigans.**

A/N: What could have been different if Trip had told T'Pol what HE felt about the night they shared together, the morning after Harbinger, instead of letting her go first? This standalone just came to me as I was watching **Boushh**'s new video "A Message" so I decided to write it tonight. Check it out, it's amazing.

Archived at the largest operating Trip & T'Pol Fanfiction & Forums Site around: **_Triaxian Silk_**

**Season 3**

**The Morning After**

Trip watched her pensively grip the cup to her lips and swallow a tiny drought of tea. He chewed his lip with equal nervousness as the tension mounted between them.

"About last night, ahm, I think…" he stopped as T'Pol matter-of-factly gripped her teacup in both hands. He froze up, suddenly unable to form the words that were bottling up at the back of his throat, begging to get out there into the air and be heard before it was too late, before he lost his nerve… But that clinically detached eye of Vulchritude she shot him simply deflated him like a balloon, reducing the heart felt confession he was dying to make into a stutter.

"Ahm, ya know on second thought, maybe you should go first," he nervously tapped at the air, pointing at her. She nodded slightly and moved to set her tea down.

"I suppose I…"

"No, no, wait, I'm-I'm gonna go first," he stammered. Something had captured him at the last moment, seizing control of his fear.

"Listen," he leaned forward. She reciprocated, forgetting her tea. The clinical detachment had faded when he surprisingly interrupted her.

"I don't know any Vulcan way to say this so I'm just gonna' say it the way-the way I know how," he rubbed his chin nervously. T'Pol blinked, barely able to nod through the apprehension she felt building inside her. The unspoken feelings between them had plagued her meditation states and dreams for months now and she suspected he reciprocated her feelings but would not dare to explore them. After all, she had clearly observed during her experience with humans that human males' were quite transient in their affections compared to a Vulcan mate. Commander Tucker had himself shared at least some kind of suspect relations with a handful of women they had encountered on their missions, and deep down she feared their own tryst was no different.

"I really liked what happened, and-and I don't just mean 'cause it was sex," he whispered. The proper southern boy in him turned his cheeks a few shades pinker.

"This--this is much more serious, the way I feel about you," he told her. T'Pol froze, unable to respond as the memory of a forbidden kiss with Sim became as clear as day. She blinked when she realized Trip was staring at her still, waiting.

"Well, I guess it was stupid to think y-"

"No," she interrupted him suddenly. "It is illogical to deny that I have… that I…"

"Had feelings for me too?" he asked, a boyish smile crossing his lips.

"Yes. But you should know that the Expanse has had a deleterious effect on my ability to control my emotions," she told him just above a whisper. It was a partial truth, though she did not dare confess her abuse of the Trellium that allowed her to access such emotions.

"So, if, and when we get back, you're sayin' you might just feel nothin'?" he asked. She nodded silently.

"I don't believe that," he told her flatly, sitting back defiantly. "I think you do feel somethin', and I wanna' be a part of it," he told her, leaning forward.

"Cause the way I feel isn't gonna' change if we get out of the Expanse," he told her bluntly, emboldened by the moment. He awaited a response with hopeful eyes but she merely rested hers emptily on the table, dissecting the logical arguments within as they swirled about in fiery contest with her feelings for him. After a long silence, he let out a sigh and sat back.

"Hell, it ain't ever gonna' change," he muttered in a drawl under his breath, meant only for himself but forgetting his colleague's perceptive hearing. She looked up in surprise, her eyes widening with golden brown at their core, boring deep into his as if she could divine some truth in his words by looking hard enough.

"I do not believe the way I feel will ever change, either," she said shakily. He looked up in stunned surprise and smiled. Ripped out of what must have seemed like an endless grin in T'Pol's direction, he jumped as a passing crewmember bumped his chair. He looked around nervously, suddenly realizing the public venue.

"Listen, I'm off after 1700 hours, the Cap'n ordered me to get some shut-eye after I dropped a wrench on his foot," he laughed.

"How 'bout a neuropressure session tonight, and maybe afterward we can talk?" he asked, uneasily.

"That would be agreeable. My shift ends at 1900," she replied.

"Great! Alright, well I'll see you on the bridge," he nodded, standing. She remained seated, finishing her tea. He stepped away, but turned an eye on the Mess Hall and realized it was in fact nearly empty, save the one crewman that bumped him, near the opposite end. The relative isolation gave him another bold idea.

"Hey, T'Pol," he returned to the table.

"Maybe some night I can make dinner for ya. I bet I could manage to muscle chef out of a hot plate or two, rustle somethin' up in mah quarters," he offered. She looked intrigued at the suggestion and opened her mouth.

"No meat, I promise," he assured her.

"Your offer is… intriguing. Very well. Perhaps we can discuss Vulcan and Human menu choices?"

"I 'spose that's only fair," he grinned. "See you later," he turned, desperately trying to wipe the grin from his face. T'Pol quickly raised her cup to her lips, hiding a similar dilemma.


End file.
